


Black Leather in the Green Light District

by Seiberwing



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masks, No Actual Batman Appearances, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roleplay, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Sex Club, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiberwing/pseuds/Seiberwing
Summary: "When one of their regular clients put in a request for a private Batman roleplay scene, Vincent was everyone's first choice to play the Bat. Vincent was surprised it had taken this long. A muscular man in black leather who swooped out of the darkness to punish you by beating you and tying you up while lecturing you in That Voice was a kink waiting to happen. "





	Black Leather in the Green Light District

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a roleplay with ravensandwritings. Vincent is technically slightly canon - when Eddie visits Pandora's Box with Batman (Detective Comics #822), he refers to the door guy as Vincent. So of course I made an entire OC out of exactly one panel's worth of character for the sake of BDSM pornography. It's what I do.

Vincent's job, like any job, had its ups and downs.

Usually his job was just to watch the door, and bounce out the rare troublemaker. It made for interesting sights, on occasion, and a chance to chat with the regulars when they weren't off debauching themselves in increasingly creative fashions. Private sessions were something he picked up when he wanted a little cash on the side and a request came down the line for something uniquely suited to his particular physicality.

When you worked at Pandora's Box, one of Gotham's most accommodating fetish clubs, you had to be flexible. Aside from the 'networking' opportunities the club provided, Pandora's offered the option of custom, personalized sessions with one or more of the staff. Not straight-up sex-on-demand, though they could give you a few suggestions on where to go for that, but scenarios that were normally inaccessible. It was a no-judgement zone, as long as everyone involved was a consenting adult, and that meant fielding a lot of very unorthodox requests.

(The staff still looked back fondly on the meek lawyer who had come to them, distressed but with cash in hand, because he got hard watching gory horror movies and wasn't sure what to do about it. The club manager had needed to give him a hug before he could even stammer out his request, padded with claims that he was a nonviolent man, a feminist, he raised rabbits for god's sake. He just got this weird tingle watching Jason Voorhees tear into groups of nubile young people and didn't know what to do about it. A few phone calls to a movie special effects professional and some very convincing prosthetics later, the man had the best orgasm of his life and the club would never need to worry about finding a lawyer again.)

For Vincent, people generally wanted a burly man to yell commands at them. As someone who looked like Dwayne Johnson and Vin Diesel's lovechild, he was happy to oblige. Sometimes the setup was extremely specific, sometimes they were just people who couldn't convince one of the many leather daddies in the area to put on a soldier's fatigues and stomp on their back with combat boots. 

Vincent saw it as a public service, quite frankly. He could give freely what they needed, they got a good time, and he got paid for it. Everyone won. 

When one of their regular clients put in a request for a private Batman roleplay scene, Vincent was everyone's first choice to play the Bat. Vincent was surprised it had taken this long. A muscular man in black leather who swooped out of the darkness to punish you by beating you and tying you up while lecturing you in That Voice was a kink waiting to happen. 

Pandora had Batman fetishists drifted in every month or so, scowling in the corners and sweating into their overexpensive mail-order costumes. Unfortunately the men under the costume generally didn't fit the archetype...a man who already felt strong didn't need to dress up as Batman to get off, and a man who wants to be Batman often had self-conscious pudge hidden under his molded leather abs.

Meanwhile, Vincent not only hung out at the gym more than a gay porn film crew, but had an uncanny knack for pitching his voice down to the growl he'd heard on the lucky day that the actual man himself had graced the club. One of their former clients was a Person of Interest, allegedly. Batman had swept through the crowds of masked patrons with a presence that would make even the most hardened dom drop to his knees, and Vincent had definitely heard a bit of whimpering after the vigilante left.

(The pudge-hiding men in cowls found a drastic increase in admirers of every gender that month. Batman was tough on crime but to the right audience extremely easy on the eyes.)

Vincent sat on a folding chair in the back room, wearing his 'business casual' black mask above a muscle shirt and battered jeans, as he waited for his newest John Doe. The client wanted to discuss terms with him personally, which wasn't uncommon.

"Mr. Doe" was an incredibly average man in shape: brown haired, green eyed, five foot nine at best. He had a briefcase in one hand and his glasses were smart and sharp. Nothing all that fancy. If it wasn't for the half-mask he was wearing across his eyes, Vincent would think he'd gotten lost on the way to close a real estate deal.

He nodded once, set his briefcase down on the table, and took the second folding chair on the other side of it.

"Good afternoon," Doe said. "I've got some things for you to read." 

"Sure, no problem," said Vincent with his most teddy bear of smiles. 

The man didn't look scared or ashamed, which was good. Some clients had to be talked into admitting their desires, even when they were the one paying for it. Vincent didn't resent doing that but it did take up a lot of time. Even worse was when they were too nervous to say what they didn't want. Nothing made you feel like shit like triggering a former hostage victim in the middle of a scene because you worded an order the wrong way.

Fortunately, Mr. Doe's list of triggers was clear and right at the top of the sheet: no references to stupidity or insulting his mental capacity. Humiliate, yes. Talk as much shit as you like, but don't call him an idiot. 

The description of the scene parameters was comprehensive, but the actual request quite simple: A capture fantasy, Riddler specific. A crime gone awry, with frustrated Batman admitting that he keeps doing this but over the course of time, has come to respect/desire the Riddler. Bonus if Batman struggled with it and his self-control.

"I think you'll find everything clear and concise," Doe said as Vincent scanned the document. "I can supply any necessary accessories on my end, including an outfit for you."

"I was wondering why you wanted my measurements." Vincent neatly marked down waist and shoulder sizes with a ballpoint pen. Doe sat back and watched him, hands folded in his lap neatly. His gaze was penetrating, and Vincent could feel it even when he wasn't looking directly at the man. He felt...assessed, for lack of a better word. It was weird when he was usually the one measuring up the clients.

"You're free to keep the suit afterwards, assuming you perform adequately. Consider it a tip."

"Thanks, man."

\--------

"Daaaang."

"This is so much cooler than the suit that one furry guy got for me."

"Are you sure this guy isn't actually Batman? Or working for Batman?"

The costume was delivered to Pandora's a few days before Mr. Doe's scheduled session and It. Was. Gorgeous.

Vincent's cape swirled around him as he turned, showing off the suit's detail to his coworkers as they gathered in the staff changing room. The kevlar felt molded to his body, but not so tight that it pinched at his joints or other sensitive parts. It was heavy but not enough to impair mobility, and not nearly as hot as it looked. Either Riddler Guy had a theater background or he'd mugged Batman himself for a spare costume just to use for a wank fantasy.

"You're totally wearing this for the Halloween party, right?" asked Destiny, rubbing the material of the cape between her fingers.

Vincent gave her the Batman frown he'd been practicing over the weekend. "Will there be any naughty criminals there?" he rasped. Actual recordings of Batman's voice were hard to dig up, but they did exist. If that was the voice the man always used, then half the space in his utility belt must be taken up by lozenges.

Paolo feigned a swoon as the others laughed. Evie stroked one of Vincent's arms. "This thing must have been expensive as hell," she noted.

"Riddler Guy has expensive tastes. I just hope he thinks I'm doing my job right or he'll probably raise a stink about it." Personally, Vincent didn't get a sexual thrill out of dominating people. Sexual thrills weren't really a thing he got in general. He sometimes suspected he was asexual but had yet to bother checking, since nothing about his job required _him_ to be aroused during work hours. The suit was a hell of a power trip with or without an attached boner, though.

Vincent flexed a few times and scowled into the full-length mirror. He was starting to see the appeal of Batfetishism. 

"You'll do fine." Evie kissed his cheek. "Go bag 'em and tag 'em, big boy."

\--------

"Room 2 is ready," Destiny said through the door to the staff room.

"Thanks." 

Vincent did a final check of his suit. Mr. Doe had shown up early to set up, bringing his own gear as promised - pre-made Riddler posters, some fake heist gear, and his own personal set of restraints. Not that Pandora couldn't provide its own, but whatever made the man feel more comfortable. 

Vincent hadn't seen Doe at all yet, of course, but Destiny had come by to give him the play by play. Apparently this guy was really devoted to that Riddler look - even had a very realistic copy of one of those Riddler Trophies that the Real Deal Riddler liked to place around the city for unclear reasons.

(Years later, a hunt for a possible rat infestation would find the Riddler Trophy already hidden in the air duct next to the shower room. There'd be a long argument over whether to call the bomb squad and then a second argument over who got to take it home.)

The door to Playroom 2 was slightly cracked, with a green glow emanating from within. Vincent didn't have an acting background but a large portion of the crew did and they took pride in turning in a good show.

Vincent didn't so much as knock before he flung the door open and pinned Mr. Doe facedown on the table, held by the back of the neck.

"Found you, Riddler!" he snarled.

As Vincent expected, Doe was dressed in full Riddler regalia with the cane resting on a nearby table. The trademark hat was rolling around on the floor where Vincent had dislodged it, and a purple mask was attached with spirit gum to the man's face. If Vincent wasn't in the middle of a scene he'd have complimented the man on his attention to detail.

"Must you be so crude? A boot to the door? At least meet the challenge of the electric lock!" Doe wiggled underneath him, trying to kick backwards in vain. His voice was shrill with rage and panic.

"Shut up!" Vincent pressed Doe's face into the table, knee strategically placed against his backside. He could feel the man quivering beneath him, that heady blend of fear and arousal already starting to build.

"Brute," Doe grunted. 

Vincent's hand on his neck tightened. "Do you know how much time I had to spend running around those puzzles of yours? How much trouble you've caused me? Again?" Vincent bent over him, letting Doe feel cruel hot breath on the back of his neck.

"Not long enough, if you've gotten here already," Doe snapped, before he gave a low whine of pleasure-pain, eyes closing briefly. Yep, his dick was definitely on board. He shifted, hands splaying against the table, tensing as if he might push back. It couldn't be a sexually tense capture if there was no play-acted struggle, after all.

Vincent kept him pinned with one hand and reached for the restraints to shackle his wrists. You got good at one-handedly binding people in this job. "Don't act as if you didn't want me here. You spend all your time and genius trying to get my attention, well, here's my attention!" The cuffs scraped against Doe's wrists as they snapped closed.

"Don't act like you don't enjoy it!" Doe said, even as he pulled against his restraints. "Would you pursue me if I wasn't a challenge, Dark Knight?"

Vincent pinned Doe down with a practiced grip, one hand at the neck and his legs keeping Doe's hips immobile. Any further wriggling would get quite intimate.

"What makes you so obsessed with wasting my time? Of course I don't want to be here!" 

There was, of course, significant further wiggling. "I will prove my methods are superior! You just have to recognize my intellect! And if I'm wasting your time...well, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Okay, the witty banter was actually pretty fun, Vincent had to admit. You had to get more creative than finding variants on the same dull theme of calling men worthless maggots, and resist falling back on household swears by reflex. Everyone else wanted you dropping fucks and whores and sissies all over the place to the point that Vincent wound up swearing like a sailor even outside of work, but that wasn't Batman's style.

"Of course I recognize your damn intellect! Everyone recognized your damn intellect, even if they won't say it." He dragged Doe off the table and slammed him onto the floor, one knee on his legs while he chained Doe's ankles together. "That doesn't mean I like having to fixate on you on a regular basis!"

The weight on his thighs was getting Doe hard, he could tell without even looking. The man reeled, eyes closing and soaking up the praise. Always nice to see a healthy erection going. It meant you were doing a good job.

"Then stop," Doe insisted. "If you had let me do my work, I would have done so much better for this city. I could point you like a missile at fraud and corruption, but no... you want them all alive to repeat the process! We'd be so much stronger and capable together."

"With you? Doing what, putting businessmen in giant mazes with rubix cubes on their heads?" Vincent let out a false laugh and jabbed his knee just hard enough into the join of Doe's legs to not quite be painful. "Just as much chance of that as there is of you doing things my way and putting that genius of yours to good use, for once."

The next groan was more pleasure than pain. "Blackmail was a useful tool! Stealing their money-- think of what we could have funded!" Doe protested. This guy clearly had done his Riddler research while putting his fetish scene together. "You know I'm right. You just said it!" Those green eyes were glowing with satisfaction. "My genius should be guiding you!"

"All it's guiding me to do is more of this!" Vincent jabbed his knee in harder this time, purposefully letting it linger against Doe's erection before flipping him over. "Unless you actually like me ruining that smirk of yours all the time."

"And that's what gets you off, isn't it?" Doe grinned defiantly at him, baring his teeth. "Grinding me down, because you're afraid of me." 

Vincent gave Doe a brief moment to breathe hard and regroup. Turned on now? Yes, painfully so. Needing to get into the right head space? Yeah, better do that.

"Pretty sure there's got to be easier ways to get your rocks off, Batman," Doe finally panted. 

"Me? Looks like you're the one who has that problem, actually." Vincent did his trademark "slow pan to erection", pretending to have just now noticed what had been obvious since he kicekd the door in. Yeah, that was a marvelously tented pair of custom green slacks, alright. 

Doe actually blushed in the dim, green tinted lighting. "Who knows what your armored codpiece hides, hmm? You are hiding literally everything," he insisted, knees pressing together in a vain attempt to conceal his arousal.

"Is that what gets you excited? That you don't know what's under this armor?" Vincent twisted Doe around until he was sitting on his legs again, a few inches south of the erection in question while Doe lay on his back. His smirk was cruel, but not sadistic. More of a tease than anything else. "Nosy Riddler. Everything has to be your business, doesn't it?"

"I'm always looking for an answer," Doe replied, hips lifting as he struggled, before Vincent's weight pressed him flat again. "You know that."

"I'm not sure that's exactly what you're looking for right now." Vincent leaned over him, the cape sprawling across his shoulders to hang over the both of them like a blanket. He had his hands to either side of Doe's shoulders, and that erection was just inches from brushing his stomach.

"You want something else, don't you?" he said, letting his snarl become a cruel purr. "Something from me. Something only I can give you"

Totally in the zone, Doe flushed hot, face going red. Humiliation was part of the agreement, after all being dominated, told what he wanted and forced to tell the terrible truth. The single word he gasped out in response was raw with a too-real emotion.

"Yes," Doe confessed, and Vincent felt his heart sing under the mountains of kevlar. There you go, you poor needy man. Say what you need where it's safe. Whoever this man was in normal life, right now Vincent felt like he could read him like an open book. There was some honest pining here - for Batman specifically, for any leather dom, for another unnamed man, for the unfortunately unfuckable philosophical concept of Justice, who knew. But something was being pined for.

"You want the one thing you can't figure out, the one riddle you can't solve." Vincent's thumbs dug into the inside of his thighs, where the nerve ran to the groin. "Not knowing something gets your motor hot." Doe keens a note of pleasure-pain, frustrated and pleased all at once. 

That would actually explain the real Riddler pretty well, Vincent thought. When all you had is a hammer and the hammer was your penis, everything looked like a fetish. A fixation on Batman as intense and passionate as the Riddler's almost had to have some weird sexual component to it.

Honestly, half of the costumed crime brigade probably wanted Batman to pin them down and fuck them into oblivion. If he did, the city might be a little quieter on the weekends.

Vincent's hands slid up further, intensifying the stimulation. "Why can't such a goddamn sharp brain like yours do something besides make me obsess on you right back?" he growled. There you go, 'Riddler'. Batman wanted you.

"If I knew th-that--" Doe was panting for breath now, arched like a bowstring was pulled taut from his spine. "Things would be-- so m-much easier--"

"Could leave you like this for the cops," Vincent mused. "All hard and sweaty like this." Get that imagined public humiliation checkbox in. 

Vincent sat back on his knees at Doe's side, withdrawing his touch and going for the denied stimulation checkbox instead."I might," he said in a thoughtful tone as he ran his gloved fingers over Doe's ankle. In the green light he saw scar tissue there, raised over the bone - slippery smooth before it gives way to normal skin, fuzzy with hair. This guy had a rough time of it, whoever he was. "I ought to. You deserve it. But...might not."

"You might not put me through the wringer? Well, that'd be a pleasant change," Doe managed. "Not pummeling your fists into my face, embedding them into my long-term memory, infecting every nightmare I have…"

When Vincent looked up, something in Doe's eyes was dim and far-away. Crud. He knew that look. That was the client starting to wander out of the room and into whatever damage he'd come here to escape. Time to apply the emergency hand-to-groin maneuver.

"Your pick," he snarled, the heel of his hand grinding against Doe's clothed erection and instantly yanking him back into the present moment. "Let the cops get an eyeful or work yourself off on me. Get my attention another way."

Doe's legs jerked again, but the ankle ties kept him from doing more than mostly flopping like a clubbed trout. "You got any requests?" he gasped. "Since you seem pretty interested in my dick there."

"Hmph." Vincent grabbed Doe by the collar and stood up, dragging Doe to his knees. "You want it? You work for it." He jammed his foot hard between Doe's parted legs, bringing his lower leg flush with the man's crotch. By no coincidence, it brought Doe's face quite close to the mystery armored codpiece.

Fine," Doe snapped. Cheek to Vincent's thigh, Doe found a good straddle point and let friction not soothe his erection, but at least give him some more stimulation. He worked his hips perfectly, clearly enjoying the feeling of kevlar and leather at his collarbone and carbon fiber plates against his face.

Yeah, this one was definitely a pleaser, Vincent thought. Someone who'd do a lot just to be told 'good boy', and hadn't gotten nearly enough of it out in the real world.

Vincent got that. At the core, it was what most people who come here wanted. Sure, they said what they wanted was to put on a latex suit and pop balloons with their thighs, but they could do that at home. What they shelled out for at Pandora's was for someone to pay attention to them while they did it, and show tacit approval of their delegitimized desires. To tell them that what they wanted was good and safe, not dirty or dangerous.

"There you go. Harder."

Vincent's fingers twisted in Doe's hair and he pressed the man's face close to his codpiece, urging him onward, taunting him for wanting it so desperately but never, ever calling him an idiot for wanting it. He can see the white-out coming on Doe's face - he's stopped overthinking, stopped remembering. He was here, he was in the moment, and nothing else mattered except gratification. 

The grip on the back of Doe's head went from cruel to supportive, cradling his head securely against the suit's inner thigh. Vincent pressed him in, bending his knee to give Doe a better angle to rub against.

"Much better," he grunted, giving the appearance of arousal. "This is where I want you. Putting that mind to good use. Putting that body to good use. Go on, get yourself off, there you go."  
Obedience gets a reward, good boys get good orgasms. 

Doe took what he was given, and gave back with doubled enthusiasm. Kindness instead of cruelty, acknowledgement -- it was a potent combo and it was clearly getting him as high as the friction itself.

Vincent pinpointed the moment when Doe was just close enough and tightened his grip again. "Now!" he growled. "Do it now!" He pressed the man's face hard against his groin and felt Doe's body quiver. Vincent relished that sob of pleasure so real and raw, as Doe finally rolled his hips one last time and climaxed.

Doe went limp against Vincent's legs, barely staying upright. His eyes were closed, his face flushed. The mask, now askew, obscured the look of relief on his face.

Vincent went to his knees and let Doe topple against him. His strong arms circled him, chest to Doe's back. "There you go. That was good. You did good." One thick-gloved hand stroked Doe's hair.

Some guys wanted to be left alone after a scene, humiliated, to wallow in their own filth. Vincent was betting this one needed encouraging. He was deep in the subspace and pliable as hell, as if he'd lost all his bones. His breathing was evening out, slow and steady, eyes closing and opening behind his slanting mask. 

Vincent maintained the Batvoice but moderated it to soothe instead of degrade. He adjusted Doe's mask and used it as an excuse to brush sweaty hair from his face. "Easy, there. That was a lot. You did great." He kept murmuring platitudes until Doe was coherent enough to nod in agreement to them.

The man had that foggy sub gentleness now - relaxed, deep in a place relieved of having to overthink about ten thousand things. He gave a small smile at Vincent that spoke volumes of how grateful he was.

There was always something sweet about people's faces when they were coming out of subspace. It made Vincent feel like he'd lifted an unbearable burden from their shoulders. If someone wanted to know why Vincent did a job like this, besides the money, it was getting to see a look like that on the face of a man who was clearly Dealing With Some Shit.

"I'm going to untie you now, okay?"

"M'kay," Doe said weakly, letting his hands be taken, flexing his fingers.

Vincent undid the restraints gently and rubbed his wrist and ankles to make sure blood was flowing properly. He could recognize scars from regular handcuffing and a couple of neat, round burns that might have been cigarettes. Vincent didn't know if they were from kink or a hard life, and it wasn't his business to ask.

Doe was languid against his chest, starting to shift his heavy limbs. His gaze was just glassy enough to not focus on too many details.

"Let's get you cleaned up." The rasp was slipping away, along with the rest of the facade, but Vincent still phrased it as an imperative. Doe could start making his own decisions when he wanted to start doing so. Until then, or at least until his session time ran out, he'd have Batman guarding his peace of mind.

"Don't worry. I've got you."


End file.
